Mañana
by Lady Chal
Summary: Ezra/Inez, OW: When Inez is accosted, rescue comes from an unexpected quarter as Ezra finds himself caught up in a rare bout of chivalry that could lead to something more...
1. Chapter 1

**Mañana**

**By Lady Chal**

Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm not making any money off of them, I'm just taking the boys out to play for a while...

Summary: When Inez is accosted, rescue comes from an unexpected quarter and Ezra finds himself caught up in an rare fit of chivalry that could lead to something more...

AN: This story is the first of two that comprises my own little M-7 universe. It takes place a few months after the events in "The Brotherhood" (which alas, I have not yet finished) and some time before all of my other M-7 stories published here.

**Chapter One**

Ezra Standish gathered his winnings into a tidy stack and bid goodnight to the last customers as they slipped out the door of the saloon.

"As always, gentlemen, it has been a pleasure."

Only after the last footfalls had faded down the boardwalk, did he allow himself to slouch back into his chair and stretch his aching muscles. His internal clock told him it was late. –Well after midnight, in fact. A glance at his gold pocket watch narrowed the hour to a few minutes shy of two in the morning.

From across the room came a sigh deep enough to match his own fatigue.

"Madre de Dios," Inez muttered, leaning heavily upon the bar, "I thought they would never leave."  
"Late nights are good business," Ezra reminded her as he collected the scattered cards and dealt himself a hand of solitaire. It was his own preferred method of sorting the deck, though with the caliber of players he had met recently, he knew full well that if any cards were missing, they would have been in his own possession. Not that he needed to resort to card manipulation in this crowd. Honest hands were easy enough to win, and he simply didn't need the grief the others would give him for a dishonest game. –They gave him too much of that already.

"Si, they are good business," Inez agreed as she moved past him in a rustle of skirts. "But you are not the only one who 'cleans up' from such an evening," she observed dryly as she collected the empty glasses.

Ezra quickly flipped through the deck, matching the cards more by habit and instinct than any real awareness of his actions.

"Have you never heard of _mañana_ Inez?"

She shot him an acid look. "It _is mañana,_ Ezra. It has been for the past two hours." But she seemed to consider his implication as she moved behind the bar to wash the last of the glasses. "I suppose I could sweep up in the morning," she mused, "but I really should take more ale to the cellar so that it will be cool by tomorrow afternoon."

She considered the problem further. "Four cases should do it, I think."

Ezra frowned at her as he gathered his cards and tucked them into the pocket of his frock coat. She looked dead on her feet. He doubted she had the energy to cart one crate down the steep cellar steps, let alone four of them.

"When my mother engaged you to manage this establishment, I do not believe she expected slave labor, Inez. You should have had Jake carry those down for you." He frowned, looking around. "Where is your illustrious bartender? I don't recall seeing him tonight."

Inez groaned and ran a tired hand through her ebony locks. "Jake was too busy sampling the inventory to do much of anything. I fired him this morning."

"I dare say that would explain his rather surly temperament." Ezra murmured as he downed the last of his own drink and carried it over to the dry sink behind the bar.

"If you mean was that why he was angry, then yes," Inez said. She moved to the closet beneath the staircase and opened it to reveal the neatly stacked cases of ale.

"He should have thanked me. He was so stinking drunk at the time that if he had tried to go down the steps, he would have broken his neck."

"A wise business decision all around then," Ezra mused, circling around the end of the bar. "The way the winds of fortunes have blown as of late, no doubt the Judge would have found you liable and forced the Tavern to pay the costs of the burial."

He loosened his cravat and put his hand on the post at the bottom of the staircase railing. "On that note, I believe I shall retire while I still have the energy to negotiate the stairs myself."

"Good night, Ezra." She called softly, pausing in her task of wiping down the tables to offer him a tired smile.

"Good night, Inez."

Slowly, he climbed the stairs, too weary to notice the dark eyes that lingered upon him a moment longer than was strictly necessary. At the top of the staircase, he paused before the small marble topped table and considered the array of finger lamps that it held.

There were six lamps, one for each room, but it seemed that only two of them would be needed tonight, what with Jake dismissed from the premises and the remaining two bedrooms vacant and un-rented. Pulling the silver match box from his pocket he extracted a Lucifer and struck it, lighting a lamp for himself. Then, struck by an uncharacteristic impulse he could not name, he removed the chimney from a second lamp and lit it as well. He replaced the chimneys and adjusted the wicks, taking care to adjust the second lamp so that it would shed enough light to illuminate the landing for Inez when she finally made her way up the long dark staircase and retired for the night. He hesitated for a moment and considered the two lamps, burning side by side. –Two lights in the darkness, he thought, --keeping each other company. He suddenly scowled as he realized the drift his thoughts had taken. When had he become such a dreadful sentimentalist?

Picking up his own lamp, he made his way to his room and closed the door behind him. With the same careful precision that he attired himself each afternoon, he slowly undressed for bed. Removing the cravat, he carefully folded it and laid it upon the bureau. The plum colored frock coat followed, carefully arranged upon its wooden hangar and stowed in the large walnut armoire. Methodically, he removed his holster and unbuckled his shoulder rig, rolling the leather belts carefully and setting them on the bedside table. His fingers were fumbling with the small buckles of the derringer rig when a loud thud and a disconcerting rattle of glassware echoed up from the taproom below. The sound brought him up short, and he scowled to himself as he realized what it must be. Inez. –Trying to lug those crates of beer to the cellar, no doubt.

Good Lord, he thought irritably, didn't the woman have more sense than to carry those heavy crates herself? She'd likely break her neck.

_And who else, pray tell, is going to do it for her?_ The small, insistent voice –the one that had been troubling him more and more frequently these days—asked quietly from the back of his head. _–Certainly not Jake,_ the voice continued. _She just finished telling you that._

Grumbling softly to himself, he turned on his heel and opened the door. There were times, he thought wearily, when Southern manners and gentility simply weren't all they were cracked up to be.

Inez uttered soft, Spanish epithets through gritted teeth as she tugged at the nearest case of dark brown bottles. She truly wondered why she'd bothered to keep that fool Jake around as long as she had. He was as lazy as an old dog, and when he wasn't into the house stock, he was always leering at her in that disconcerting way that made her feel as if she were not wearing any clothes. She should have fired him months ago. If he'd been doing his job at all, the spring trough would have been fully stocked to begin with. When it was full, it usually held enough bottles to last for two or three days. She would see to that tomorrow, she decided. In the mean time, she only needed to take enough beer down to see them through tomorrow's dinner crowd. She would have to take them one at a time, though. They were simply too heavy for her to manage more than that.

Taking a firm grip upon the crate, she was preparing herself to lift it when she was stopped by a firm hand upon her arm.

"Enough, Inez." Ezra's voice was soft, but firm, and near enough that she could smell the faint whiff of bay rum as he gently pushed her aside.

"—But I—"

"You're dead on your feet. I'll take the crates down to the cellar. You go and lock up. I daresay the rest of this will keep until morning."

Pride and indignation flashed brightly in her brown eyes. "I am perfectly able to do this myself, Señor."

Ezra shot her a sardonic glance. "I have no doubt of that, my dear Lady." He hefted two of the heavy crates with a soft explosion of breath and she could not help but notice the play of his muscles beneath the fine linen of his shirt as he carted the cases in the direction of the cellar stairs.

"I assure you," he grumbled, "I have only my own selfish interests at heart. At the moment, I'd like nothing better than to repair to my bed. However, I doubt I'd get much sleep with you banging around down here until all ungodly hours of the morning."

He fixed her with a green-eyed glare. "Now lock up, Inez, and let's call it a night."

Her mahogany eyes snapped back at him. "As you wish, Señor," she said, dropping him a mocking curtsey before whirling away to shutter the windows.

Ezra carefully made his way down the worn steps to the cellar, his blood doing a slow simmer in his veins. Damn, but the woman could be stubborn! Ungrateful, too, he thought as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. He frowned as he noted the derringer rig, still strapped to the inside of his right forearm, and took extra care not to get it wet as he transferred the bottles of warm beer from the wooden cases to the spring-fed trough which ran through the stone floor of the cellar. Inez likely would have broken her neck hauling the cases down here, tired as she was. Still, he had to admit to himself thather attitude wasn't the only thing that had irritated him.

"Señor," he muttered to himself. "Señor indeed!"

He must have gotten under her skin somehow for her to revert back to the formality. Of the six men he considered his friends, he alone had enjoyed her familiarity. Everyone else was addressed formally as 'Señor,' but to her, he was simply Ezra. This was rather new development, born of the long painful days of his recovery this past spring, when Inez had tended to his injuries. Still, this was a privilege he had enjoyed immensely, especially given Buck's failed attempts at seduction with the spirited Mexican bar maid.

In truth, he credited much of his easy companionship with the bar maid and their unspoken acceptance of one another to the hours of common interest they had both invested in the daily operations of the Saloon. Of all the citizens of Four Corners –and even the men he had come to consider his friends—Inez alone was the one person who did not seem to judge him. He had returned the favor in kind. –Unlike Buck, who eyed her with lascivious intent, or Chris, who seemed to regard her as a magnet for trouble (though he granted that it was through no fault of her own), to Ezra, she was simply Inez –bright and cheerful, with an easy knack for selling drinks and a wicked talent for sharp words. –Both of which were gifts he held in rare esteem.

Stung as he had been by his mother's takeover of his enterprise, he could not fault her business acumen in hiring Inez to manage the taproom. He supposed that it took one shrewd woman to recognize another, and Inez and his mother were shrewd women indeed. Perhaps that was what he liked the most about her.

With a weary step, he climbed the steps to retrieve the last two cases of ale. The unexpected darkness of the main floorbbrought him up short. Inez, it seemed, had wasted no time in turning in for the night. The hell with the other two cases, he thought. He'd be damned if he was going to negotiate that load down the steps in the dark. Swearing softly under his breath, he crossed to the bar and then froze as a soft thud met his ears. It was followed by a muffled female whimper that had him instantly snapping the derringer to hand.

Moving with a silent, catlike grace, he crossed the room. He spared only a swift glance at the door which hung slightly ajar, a thin sliver of moonlight streaking across the floor. Whoever it was had taken her by surprise. He only hoped he could return the favor.

The sight which met his eyes as he reached the door to the kitchen sent anger roiling through his gut like a wild, clawing creature. There were two of them, he saw. One gripped her tightly from behind. A meaty fist clamped across her mouth muffled her cries as her captor ground himself tightly against her. The second man tore eagerly at her clothing even as he fumbled with his own.

"Easy now, little missy," the second man hissed. "We just came to finish a little business. We already paid your man. There's no need to be prickly about it."

The rough voice was unfamiliar to Ezra's ears, as was the one that followed it.

"Whooee! That Jake feller was right, wasn't he Charlie? She shore is a little wild cat!"

"I believe you are mistaken, sir." Ezra's own voice sliced through the darkness like the blade of one of Nathan's throwing knives. "Señorita Rocillos is a lady. I will take issue with any one who says otherwise."

The man whom Ezra deduced to be Charlie managed one slow swallow as he felt the twin barrels of the derringer press lightly into the base of his skull.

"Easy now, friend," Charlie rasped hoarsely. "My pard and I here were just looking to show the lady a good time."

The sound of the derringer being cocked was nearly as chilling as the calm, emotionless voice that followed it.

"As I do not recall having previously met with your acquaintance, I assure you that I am not your friend."

Ezra pushed the gun deeper into Charlie's neck before allowing himself to meet Inez's terrified gaze. "And judging from Miss Rocillos's expression, I would surmise that she is not, in fact, enjoying your company. Unhand the lady."

They did not immediately respond, and Ezra tightened his grip on the man he now held, his fingers barely registering the feel of coarse wool and cotton piping beneath his hand. He caught the gleam of brass buttons on the cuff of Inez's captor and mentally swore. Military, he thought. Probably from the company that was camped out at the edge of town. He had little doubt there'd be hell to pay for this.

The soldier who held Inez must have seen the realization dawning in Ezra's eyes, for he emitted a harsh laugh.

"You can't touch us," he taunted. "We're sworn soldiers of the U.S. Army. Major Reilly don't much care for you boys as it is. He'll have your head on a platter if you shoot us."

Ezra's green eyes bored into the soldier's blue ones as he considered the words. Then, slowly, deliberately, he removed the gun from Charlie's neck, lowered it, and fired.

Charlie dropped to the floor in agony as he screamed and clutched at the wound which was already seeping blood high up along his inner thigh. The second soldier froze as he found himself staring down the muzzle of the gambler's gun.

"Shall we test the theory any farther?" Ezra inquired coldly.

Inez was released instantly. She fled to the shelter of Ezra's open arm, but the hand clutching the derringer never wavered.

"If I might be so bold as to inquire, with whom did you conduct this unfortunate business transaction?"

The soldier swallowed nervously. "W-with that bartender –Jake. He said he did it all the time, th-th-that she just played hard to get as an act for the customers. Look Mister, I—"

Whatever the man had been about to add was cut off in the crash of the back door as it rocked back on its hinges and slammed against the wall. Vin Tanner's lean figure was silhouetted in the doorway, the mare leg carbine ready in his hands.

He took in the scene with one swift gaze that swept from Inez's trembling frame to the prone figure on the floor to the ghost white soldier at the end of Ezra's gun before coming to rest at last upon the gambler himself.

"I was turnin' in for the night when I heard the shot." Vin said in way of explanation. "--Just thought I'd see if you needed a hand." The scout's voice was mild, but like Ezra, his body was tense and ready for action.

"As a matter of fact, Mr. Tanner, you have arrived at an opportune moment. Perhaps you would be so kind as to escort these two men to more suitable accommodations?"

"I'm sure JD can find a spot for 'em." Vin said, lifting his carbine ever so slightly in the soldier's direction.

Vin's gaze swung back to Inez, silently taking in her trembling body and the tears tracking silently down her cheeks. "You all right, Inez?" he asked quietly.

She nodded slowly, but did not speak.

Reaching around her with his free hand, Ezra reset the derringer into its sleeve rig before folding her somewhat awkwardly into a protective embrace.

"I believe she just needs a moment to compose herself," he said over the top of her trembling head.

"Perhaps you might fetch Mrs. Travis when you're done with these two gentlemen?"

Vin nodded and jerked his weapon at the two men. "Pick up your friend and let's go."

The man scrambled to the moaning mass that was his friend and hastily helped him to his feet. Charlie shrieked in pain and even Vin seemed to turn just a shade lighter under his tan when he saw the location of the wound.

"Jesus, Ezra. I don't think even Nathan can fix that one."

"I'm sure our colleague will appreciate the challenge." Ezra said coolly. Under other circumstances, he supposed he too would have inwardly cringed at the wound as Vin had done. It was in a sensitive enough location to garner sympathy from any man. But he was having difficulty feeling any kind of regret, what with the way Inez stood, trembling in his arms.

The soldiers left, moaning and cursing under the tracker's watchful gaze. Vin hesitated only long enough to close the door, leaving the two alone once more.

Ezra was rather disconcerted at the prospect, finding himself at a loss for what to do next. It had been a long time since he had comforted a woman –a fact he was becoming uncomfortably aware of with each second Inez lingered in his embrace.

Fortunately, Southern manners and gentility –the only positive part of his upbringing which he truly owed to Maude—came to his rescue. Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, he extracted a fresh linen handkerchief and offered it to Inez. She accepted it gratefully, dabbing at her eyes and nose.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was thick with unshed tears.

"Come," he said gently and took her hand. He led her back out into the tavern and seated her in a chair at his customary table. Rummaging behind the bar, he found a clean glass and a particular bottle and set it before her. Unstopping the bottle, he poured a healthy measure of the amber contents into the glass.

"Drink," he ordered, pushing the glass towards her.

Inez eyed him almost warily, fully aware of the magnanimous gesture as her gaze shifted from the bottle to his face. Unlike the usual rock gut served and swilled in the tavern, this particular bottle contained an exceptionally fine brandy that Ezra used to refill his flask. Maude had sent it to him last Christmas, and he hoarded it with a miserly affection.

"I insist," he added, drawing a chair close to hers and sitting beside her.

She complied, wincing slightly as the liquor burnt a fiery, but not unpleasant path down her throat. The liquid warmth seemed to pool in the pit of her stomach and then slowly spread through her chilled limbs. When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring into Ezra's pale green ones. He said nothing, merely stared at her until she suddenly found the terrible story spilling out of its own accord.

"They were waiting for me," she began. "They surprised me when I went to bar the door…"

By the time Mary Travis appeared, some twenty minutes later with Vin and Chris looming behind her like uneasy sentinels, silence reigned once more. For Inez, it was the kind of dazed shock that cocoons one in a protective cloud. In Ezra, however, it was an angry living thing. If Jake McQueen was within so much as a twenty mile radius of this town come morning, he fully intended to kill the son of a bitch.

Larabee apparently recognized the intent in the gambler's eyes, for he glanced at Ezra and indicated the doorway with a silent tilt of his head. Leaving Inez to Mary's care, Ezra followed the two out into the damp chill of the October night. Through the half curtained windows of the Tavern, he could see Mary as she removed her shawl and wrapped it about the shivering woman.

"How is she?" Larabee asked quietly.

"Shaken, but unharmed," Ezra replied. "McQueen will not be so fortunate the next time I set eyes upon him."

Vin shook his head. "You won't. He took a horse from the livery and rode out of here an hour ago. Judging from the tracks he made, I'd guess he ain't planning on coming back any time soon."

"He's more intelligent than one would presume," Ezra said dryly.

Larabee was contemplating the darkened length of the street and the road leading out of town. The small flickering sparks of the camp fires could be seen a mile in the distance. He struck a match against the rough beam which supported the tin roof overhanging the boardwalk and lit one of his thin, black cheroots. He took a deep draw of the acrid smoke. "The Major out there won't be happy about losing two of his troopers," he observed.

"And the trooper you shot will be none too happy about the extra room in his britches," Vin put in with mild amusement.

Chris cocked an eyebrow and shook out the match. "Both of them?"

Vin nodded, a dark twinkle lighting his pale blue eyes. "Nathan seemed pretty sure the fella's family tree had been pruned for good."

Their leader uttered an epithet that was caught somewhere between a laugh and a curse. "Might have been better to kill him," he remarked to the gambler. "A man tends to hold a grudge about a thing like that."

"One would expect no less," Ezra said. He was feeling somewhat calmer now, but the stench of Larabee's smoke was making him wish for one of his own cigars –all of which were regrettably residing in the breast pocket of his frock coat, upstairs in his room.

Vin sighed. "I reckon we're gonna have to tell the Major."

Chris nodded. "You and I can ride out in the morning and talk to him. With any luck, we might even convince him to keep his men out of town for a while."

Vin snorted. "I wouldn't pin much hope on that."

Larabee drew deeply on the tobacco. "No," he agreed.

The three of them stood in silence for a long moment, each man contemplating the darkened length of the street with his own quiet musings. A coyote yipped somewhere in the distance, and an owl answered it with his own eerie call. From the livery across the street they could hear the muffled thud of a horse pawing at the feed bunk, all mixed with the soft rise and fall of the female voices behind them. When he had smoked the cheroot down to nothing, Larabee stubbed it out on the hitch rail and flung it into the street.

"Buck and Josiah will be back from the prisoner transfer tomorrow," he said. "We'll post a night watch until the army moves out. I want two men on watch all night long, --four during business hours."

Vin and Ezra nodded in agreement, then turned on their heel and followed him back into the tavern. Mary was sitting across from Inez, speaking intently to her. They only managed to catch her last few words.

"You should come and stay with me tonight," Mary was saying. "I have plenty of room and you shouldn't be alone."

Inez shook her head reluctantly. "No," she said, her voice was firm. "I will not be frightened from my own home. I will stay here."

She was somewhat surprised at the steadiness of her voice. Privately, she was not at all as confident as she sounded. Her past experience with Don Paulo had taught her only too well that this was a man's world, and no woman was ever really safe in it. –Especially not a woman such as herself. The recent events of the evening had only served to drive the lesson vividly home once again. In truth, it was neither bravery nor pride which cemented her decision to remain here in her rooms above the Saloon. It was fear. She could have accepted Mary's offer, wholly generous and offering a bit of privacy and refuge from the scene of the night's occurrence. But Mary Travis was a woman, a widow, who lived alone in her rooms above the Clarion with no husband to defend her, nor any weapon to bring to bear in her own defense. Shaken as she was by the whole incident, Inez was very much aware that she was safer here, at the scene of the assault than anywhere else in town. Here, at least, there would only be a few feet, a wall and a door separating her from a man with a gun –a man who had defended her—and in the alley behind the Saloon where Vin Tanner's freight wagon was parked there would be another. The shaky, trembling feeling had not quite left her, and she did not feel particularly safe even now, but in the warm light of the tap room, surrounded by her friends, she knew she would feel less so anywhere else.

Mary rose then, and took Inez's hands in her own. "If you need anything at all, send for me," she ordered, giving the icy fingers a gentle squeeze. "I'll check in on you tomorrow," she promised softly, and then she was gone in a rustle of skirts.

The low rumble of men's voices died almost immediately, and Inez gazed blearily through the doors of the saloon to see Chris Larabee offer his arm to Mary and escort her back across the street towards the Clarion. Ezra nodded a brief farewell to the widow and then turned and walked back into the saloon, trailed by Vin.

The scout did not linger, but snagged a wooden chair from a near by table and carried it towards the doorway. Ezra said nothing, merely quirked an eyebrow in Vin's direction as he went about securing the rest of the shutters. Vin caught the glance and shot Ezra a bland look. "Figured I might just sit out front on the boardwalk a spell and enjoy the evening."

Inez was not fooled. She knew that the taciturn Texan would spend the entire night like a wakeful sentinel, the carbine ready across his lap and his keen eyes scanning the darkness for any further trouble-seekers. She blinked her eyes fiercely at the sudden tears which pricked at her lashes, wondering what she had done to deserve the friendship of men such as these.

Ezra grasped the large double doors, closing them upon the sight of the darkened figure tipped back in the chair upon the boardwalk. One by one, he snuffed the last few lamps that burnt in the taproom. Only then did he come to stand before her, gazing down into her face with a rare expression of genuine concern.

Come, my dear," he said softly, offering her his hand. "It's late, even for two nocturnal creatures such as us. You should rest now."

She nodded and rose wearily to her feet, grateful for the steadying grip he had proffered. His arm was warm and strong beneath her hand, and when she stumbled halfway up the seemingly endless staircase, it snaked out to catch her, gripping her firmly about the waist and pulling her once more into the security of his embrace. He walked her wordlessly down the long hallway to to the door of her room, a tiny space at the back of the building just over the kitchen. He opened the door and threw it back so that the soft yellow glow of the hall lamp dimly illuminated the simply furnished space.

"Will you be all right?" His voice was quiet, and there was more than a hint of concern burning in the jade depths of his gaze.

Her only response was a single, silent and rather unconvincing nod.

He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. "Sleep, Inez," he suggested. "Things will look different tomorrow."

"Better?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No," he said in a rare fit of unvarnished honesty, "merely different, but sometimes that is sufficient."

She smiled faintly, thinking of his words to her earlier this evening, before the soldiers had come. "Hasta mañana," she said, tilting her head with just a hint of her old sauciness. "Maybe when it comes I will know why you like it so much."

"Perhaps," he said. He was so hard to read, she thought. Of course, most of this was by choice. He'd have been a very poor gambler to let everyone know what he was thinking all of the time. Still, there were moments –not unlike this one—when she began to suspect that there was far more to this man than fancy words, fancy clothes and a very dangerous gun.

She felt the silence that swirled around them, and though she did not look forward to the solitude that awaited her, she knew there was really only one thing left to say.

"Buenos noches," she said softly.

He nodded, almost self consciously, and backed away in the direction of his own door.

"Ezra," she said suddenly, calling him back. She did not know what exactly possessed her to do it. Perhaps it was fear, or gratitude, or impulse, but she grabbed his arm, staying him, keeping her with him just one moment more.

The silence lengthened and stretched between them, the words of thanks somehow catching in her throat until she was sure she would never be able to speak them properly. Perhaps that then, was what caused her to lift herself ever so slightly on her toes and press her bruised lips gently to his.

"Gracias," she whispered. She knew the word was too inadequate, but was unable to think of anything else. Turning then, she fled to the seclusion of her room before she made an even bigger fool of herself.

She would not have been alone. Had she lingered even a moment more, she would have been treated to an unusual sight: the very loquacious Ezra Standish, standing still and dumbstruck by the kiss that still seemed to tingle upon his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

He awoke sweating and swearing in the half-dark of early morning, acutely aware of the trembling in his hands and the way the fading scars on his back seemed to itch and sting from the cold perspiration. Ezra drew one deep, shuddering breath and swung both of his feet from the twisted sheets to rest firmly on the rough warmth of the braided rug beside his bed. Raking a hand through the tangle of his hair, he willed himself away from the clutches of the old nightmare. Blindly, he made his way to the window, threw open the sash and breathed deeply of the crisp night air. The early morning breeze was cool and sweet as it wrapped around him, chasing away the bite of the lash and the sound of his own screams that still echoed too loudly inside his own head.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window pane and closed his eyes for a moment, willing the trembling to stop. The nightmares were not as frequent now, but the still troubled him every few months or so. Usually when he was least expecting them He never knew what triggered them, but he was fairly certain he knew what had done it tonight. The situation with Inez had been too close for comfort. The knowledge that her fate had relied upon him alone pressed down upon him like a weighty mill stone. He had never cared for the responsibility that taking action in such situations required. What if he had miscalculated? What if he had missed it altogether? She could have been dead. They both could have been. The last time he had underestimated a seemingly less than formidable adversary, he had gained little for it save the silvery marks of the healed scars that crossed his back from shoulder to hip. It was little wonder that the nightmare and the memory had chosen to revisit him this night.

He stared moodily out the window at the faint gray light that was starting to filter across the landscape, lifting it from darkness, holding it in that gray purgatory that reigns just before sunrise. There would be little sense in going back to bed. The new day was here, and he'd never be able to sleep anyways. The damnable part of it was that it was too late for tobacco and too early for whiskey. He sighed. The only remaining option was to seek out a decent cup of coffee.

Splashing a bit of water into the china wash basin on the dresser, he quickly performed his morning ablutions and sought out a clean shirt. Only when he was as impeccably attired as he could make himself on the minimal amount of sleep he had obtained, did he draw on his frock coat, depart his room and descend the stairs.

The large Regulator wall clock chimed half past five as he opened the front doors and stepped out to speak to Vin Tanner, still keeping vigil on the boardwalk out front.

"Coffee?" He suggested mildly.

"Sure." The front legs of the chair in which Vin had been reclining came back to the floor with an audible thud.

Nodding his bleary approval, Ezra turned and threaded his way through the tables to the kitchen. It was a single long room that ran the width of the building, opening out onto the tap room from either side of the bar. It had been nothing short of a cesspool when he had taken over the establishment, but Inez had wrought miracles during her tenure. Vin snagged a gleaming tin pail from the dry sink and headed down to the cellar to fetch water from the spring. Ezra looked thoughtfully at the rough hewn excuse for a dry sink, worn smooth by Inez's constant scrubbing. It wouldn't take much to put in a small kitchen pump to bring water up from the cellar. Doubtless, such an improvement would save Inez constant trips up and down the stairs. Realizing that he had actually just spent several moments contemplating the complexities of kitchen conveniences for an establishment he didn't even own only strengthened his resolve. He definitely needed more coffee.

The Southerner turned his attention to the mammoth cast iron cook stove. It dominated the room, reminding him of some black, foreboding dragon. He was not much of a hand with the thing, it being purely Inez's domain. Fortunately for his limited culinary skills, she had banked the fire well before closing up for the night, and the night being relatively short, it kindled easily back to flame.

Rummaging around on the shelves where she kept her staples, he located a bag of coffee beans and a grinder and was dumping a drawer's worth of grounds into a battered enamel coffee pot when Vin returned with the water. No conversation was made as the water was set to boil. Vin stepped out to the back porch to retrieve more firewood. Ezra retrieved the coffee cups.

The clock was chiming a deep and resonant six a.m. as Ezra strode out to his usual table with the coffee. He placed a cup of the steaming brew before Vin and dropped into his usual seat, kicking aside a chair upon which he rested his polished boots. Each man took a sip of the hot, bitter drink and contemplated the morning sunlight that was threatening to filter through the windows. It was Vin who finally broke the silence.

"You thinkin' of goin' after Jake?"

Ezra smiled wryly, "The prospect does hold a certain appeal."

He set down his coffee, "No," he said at last, "I'm not going after him."

Vin digested this for a moment. It was not the answer he had somehow expected, but then Ezra never was one to be predictable. Given the dramatic scene he had walked in on the night before, he would have bet the solitary dollar rolling around in the bottom of his pocket that Standish would have been riding out to find Jake McQueen and beat the living hell out of him before the sparrows woke up. As was typical with any type of wager involving the gambler, he would have bet wrong.

Had it been anybody else in that situation, Buck or JD or –hell, even Larabee on one of his bad days or rare chivalrous moods—he wouldn't have given a plug nickel for Jake's chances of surviving the week. If Buck had even been in town instead of out escorting a prisoner to Watsonville, they'd probably be digging McQueen's grave right now. Vin had to admit that even he'd had to restrain himself from the temptation of abandoning his watch and riding after the bastard when he'd discovered the snake had left town. Any of the others would have already been on the trail …but not Ezra. Perhaps he couldn't see the percentage in it.

Vin mentally checked himself. No, that wasn't fair. Besides, the theory didn't quite fit. It wasn't that Ezra didn't care, he decided. In fact, it was quite to the contrary. Last night Standish had been as furious as Vin had ever seen him. It was easy to tell when Ezra was angry, once you got to know him. The madder he got, the calmer he appeared. He dropped all the pretense of the fancy five-dollar words he so often hid behind and spoke instead with a clear, crisp eloquence that would freeze the blue blood in the veins of a Virginia politician. Last night had been a fine example of that. No, Vin decided, there was more to it than there seemed. Ezra had seen something in the whole incident that none of the others would have, and it was that alone that held him back. The more he thought about it, the more Vin had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what it was.

"It's probably for the best," he said at last. His blue eyes moved up the open staircase to the rooms above. "She's tried mighty hard to be accepted around here. She wouldn't care for the talk it would make."

Ezra laughed harshly. "Well, regardless of whether or not McQueen gets his due, there's going to be an abundance of conversation, isn't there?" He looked sourly out the window and up the street to where the town's neatly kept homes and businesses sprawled. "Good Lord, what a mess! Once the word gets out, I've little doubt the good women of this town will be chattering like magpies."

"'Tain't easy to keep anything quiet in a place this size," Vin agreed, taking another swig of coffee. "But I reckon it'll blow over soon enough. These things always do. Shoot, you should know. Most of the womenfolk don't even blush any more when you walk past."

Ezra scowled at the gentle jab. After his infamous poker game with Big Lester Banks he couldn't so much as cross the street without a herd of women gasping and twittering like a flock of overwrought canaries. It had been a full three weeks before Gloria Potter could look him squarely in the eye when he entered her store to make a purchase, and there were still occasions when he caught Mary Travis glancing at him with such amusement and speculation that he was tempted to question the purity of the good lady's thoughts. All in all, the whole experience had been more than enough to remind him why he generally avoided entanglements with the female sex.

Only Inez had seemed to take it all in stride. She had simply gazed at him as he had darted in from the street that day, shaken her head, and smiled. The fact that he had been wearing little but a scarlet color in his cheeks that rivaled the brilliance of his favorite frock coat seemed to faze her not at all. She simply gathered her tray of drinks upon her shoulder and moved back into the crowd of thirsty patrons, dispensing the orders with her usual wit and efficiency. Much as he deeply wished to pretend the entire thing had never happened, Inez appeared to be the only person capable of the feat. In fact, for all the notice she had given the incident, one might have thought men habitually conducted poker games in her establishment without the benefit of clothing. It was little wonder she had to keep a constant vigil about her reputation in this town. Her association with him and his colleagues undoubtedly placed it in frequent peril.

Ezra shrugged off the distasteful memory. "That was different. The situation, regrettable though it was, was of my own making. Given the complexities of my profession, I am prepared for assaults upon my character –or the assumed lack thereof."

His voice lowered as his gaze ascended to the upper balcony, where the door to her rooms was just barely visible. "She is a good woman," he said quietly. "She doesn't deserve the speculation this will create."

"No, she don't." Vin agreed. "But she's been through worse. I think she can handle it." His blue eyes sharpened. "Besides, you never know but what some good may come out of your little drama last night."

"And what, pray tell, might that be?" Ezra asked, his voice dismal.

The Texan grinned. "Once it gets out just exactly where you shot that fella, I guarantee you most men will think twice about laying hands on Inez."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

A piercing shriek rent the early morning air before descending into a drawn-out wail that faded only briefly before repeating itself all over again. Chris Larabee threw back the wool horse blanket that he had pulled over his head sometime in the night and slowly opened one eye. Damned rooster! He'd shoot the thing if he could find it. He knew no one would hold it against him. The blasted bird already had a bounty on its head to rival Tanner's. The rooster, a half-wild Black Giant that had been dubbed "Black Jack" by the residents of the lower end, had escaped Gloria Potter's coop a few days shy of his scheduled execution. Much to the dismay of Nathan and Yosemite, he had taken up residence in the rafters of the Livery and Grain Exchange, where he faithfully announced the arrival of each new day at approximately 4:45 a.m.

It was not unusual to hear the cock's crow followed immediately by a blast of gunfire, either from Yosemite's shotgun , or the guns of whatever unfortunates that happened to be trying to catch a night's sleep in the hay loft. At the moment, the particular unfortunate happened to be him, and as he lay there in the hay and horse blankets with the cry of the rooster taunting him, he found himself sorely tempted to reach for his own weapon. Instead, he made a mental note to speak to JD about going a bit easier on those who did unload their guns on the blasted bird. The rooster squawked again and he grinned to himself. Maybe he ought to talk to Mary about printing up a wanted poster for the critter while he was at it.

Cheered somewhat by the thought, he flipped back the blankets and rolled to a sitting position. Being a naturally early riser, he rose quickly, pulling on his boots and brushing the bits of hay from his hair and clothes with a bright eyed alertness that most men could not achieve without the benefit of several cups of coffee. He shook the straw from his blankets and refolded them, tossing them back down to his saddle below, before scaling quickly down the ladder from the loft. A soft nicker greeted him, and he reached across the gate to rub the nose of his black stallion. Job regarded him patiently, his large dark brown eyes calm and expectant.

"Yeah, I know what you're after," Larabee chuckled, reaching for the pitchfork. He tossed several forkfuls of hay into Job's manger, then proceeded on down the line to the other four inquisitive heads that poked out into the alleyway. He spared time to scratch Peso, sidestepped Chaucer's flashing teeth and finished forking hay to Nathan and JD's mounts, who waited more patiently. He left the pitchfork by the door as he exited. The rest of the horses he would leave for Yosemite, but the situation being what it was, he'd rather their own animals were ready if needed.

Taking in the length of the street with a swift glance, he saw that Tanner had vacated the chair which he had pulled out onto the Saloon boardwalk the night before. Either he had finally called it a night or he was about somewhere, patrolling the back streets and alleys. Larabee was not concerned. The town wasn't that big. He'd find him soon enough.

His first stop was the jail, where he looked in to see both prisoners asleep in their bunks. The wounded man was curled in a tight ball and still sleeping deeply from the laudanum Nathan had given him. Larabee shook his head as he stared down at the prisoner with a grim faced amusement. He could almost feel sorry for the man …almost.

JD was sprawled and snoring in the chair behind his desk. Larabee shook his head, half amazed. The kid's bones had to be made out of rubber. He could sleep in just about any position and spring awake without so much as a creaky neck. Larabee had lost that particular ability himself many years ago. Now if he spent more than a few nights out on rough ground he felt more stove up than old man Watson. As it was, one night in the hay loft and he was already missing his bunk in the claim shack.

He frowned as he shifted his glance back to the prisoners. No doubt that stiff-necked army Major would miss them before long. Best that he collected Vin and rode out to talk to the man before the whole damned army came into town looking for them. Tension had been growing between the soldiers and the civilian population in the last few days. Most of it was due to the fact that the payroll wagon was late, and the soldiers had been issued army script rather than government currency with which to cover their expenses. Had they been on a regular army post, furnished with sutlers and storekeepers who did regular business with the military, it would not have been an issue. Here in Four Corners, though, the merchants were less than trusting of the odd looking paper bills. He didn't figure as it would be much longer before things would come to a head, but right now he was just too damned tired to deal with it. That was tomorrow's problem. He hand enough on his plate for today.

None of these musings did anything to brighten Chris's mood as he crossed the street to the saloon. Reilly was going to blow his stack when he found out that two of his men were under lock and key in the local jail.

He heard the soft mutter of voices as he climbed the steps to the boardwalk and crossed the threshold of the tavern. To his surprise, he found that it was Standish who sat with Tanner, drinking coffee and staring towards the rising sun with bloodshot and bleary eyes. Judging from the faint glaze to their expressions, he would guess that neither one of them had slept, though he knew damned well Standish had headed off to bed immediately after he and Mary had departed for the night.

He noted the grim set to the gambler's jaw and the faint tremble to the hand as Ezra reached to refill his coffee cup. Nightmares, Chris thought. He recognized the signs. He'd lived with his own long enough to know.

"You boys are up early," he said mildly, stepping into the room.

"Couldn't sleep," Vin allowed, and Chris saw in the tracker's eyes that Tanner was not necessarily speaking of himself.

"Me either," Larabee sighed. "Damned rooster. You'd think one of these times Yosemite would manage to hit that bird."

"Coffee?" Standish asked, tipping the pot in the direction of Tanner's cup. The Texan shoved it closer, allowing the steaming black liquid to flow into it.

"Sure," Larabee said.

The Southerner tipped his head towards the back of the room. "Inez keeps the cups behind the bar," he said.

Chris retrieved one and returned to the table, dropping into a chair across from the two men. Ezra emptied the last of the pot into the cup, careful to avoid spilling too many of the loose grounds in with it. Just as carefully, Chris tested the brew, more than a little leery of his colleague's coffee making abilities. To his surprise, it was good.

Vin slouched back in his chair, his blue eyes intent upon Larabee. "How long you plannin' on holdin' them fellas?"

Chris shrugged. "It depends," he said finally.

"On what?" Ezra asked.

The soft creak of a floorboard came from somewhere above them, and Larabee's eyes swiveled to the balcony and the small, wraithlike figure of the woman who looked down upon them.

"On Inez." He said quietly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

She was clad in an old dressing gown that Ezra vaguely recognized as one of Maude's cast-offs. A black knit shawl was drawn closely about her shoulders. Her hair was a wild cascade of tangled ebony locks. Her skin was unusually pale and there was a hint of dark circles beneath her eyes. He suspected she had slept even less than he had, and he could not help but marvel at the picture she made as she descended the staircase. Even looking like hell, she was still beautiful. With a flicker of irritation, Ezra tamped down the wayward thought, for he knew better than anyone that nothing could come of it. However, he could not miss the admiring looks which flashed across both Larabee and Tanner's faces. The observation did nothing to improve his temper. He was relieved when she paused on the landing beside the piano, and Larabee addressed her in a tone that firmly brought their attention back to the business at hand.

"Do you want to press charges?"

The very air of the room seemed to halt and hang upon her answer.

"No." The word was softly spoken, but it possessed a strength that carried it clearly to their ears.

Ezra scowled. It was the answer he had been expecting. Still, it surprised him how little he cared to hear it. "They should be punished for their actions, Inez," he said, unable to help himself.

"One of them already has." Her tone held only the slightest tint of arid amusement.

"And what of the other one?" He demanded.

She shrugged one thin shoulder. "I am not a fool," she said quietly. "I can see the tension that is growing between the soldiers and the town. If the supply wagons do not come soon, there will be trouble. I have no desire to be the cause of any more of it."

"This ain't your fault, Inez." Vin said firmly, "Like as not there would be trouble anyway, with or without what happened last night."

She pulled the shawl more tightly about herself. "Perhaps," she agreed, "But I don't think everyone will see it that way." She cast a meaningful glance up the street, towards the better end of town.

Larabee frowned. "Vin's right," he said quietly. "This isn't about them. This is about you. Whatever trouble comes, we will handle it. It's what the Judge pays us to do. Do you want them punished? It's your decision."

She took a step closer to them and leveled the weight of her mahogany gaze upon Larabee. "There would be a trial, no?"

Chris nodded.

"Like the one they had for Señor Jackson's father?"

"Yes," Chris said quietly. "The Judge would be there, and you, and the soldiers …and those of us who would speak for you."  
She nodded. "But there would be a jury, and the whole town would come."

"Yes."

She sighed. "And Señora Travis would write about it in her newspaper. She would say kind things, I am sure, but she would have to write about it. It is her job." She suppressed a mild shiver. "People will read it, and people will talk." She shook her head. "They have talked enough already, I think."

"There could be another kind of trial," Chris suggested. "These men are soldiers. Under the law, they would have to face a military trial as well. Their commanding officer would be their judge. Their fellow soldiers would try them. We would still be there to speak for you, but the public and press would not be allowed."  
Inez laughed hollowly. "To stand alone? In a court of men? Of strangers?" She shook her head. "There can be no justice in such a court for a woman such as I."

Privately, Ezra had to agree. Especially when one considered that the jury of peers who would be judging these men would likely have been turned away from Inez's bar for their lack of gold to pay with.

She shook her head again. "No," she said firmly. "Let them go."

Vin looked at her uncertainly. "If you're sure that's what you want."

"What I want," she said softly, "is for them to never set foot in here again. What I want, is for this to be forgotten, as if it never happened."

Larabee rose and motioned for Vin to follow him. "Then I guess we'll see what we can do about that."

The silence in the room was palpable following Larabee and Tanner's departure. Ezra raked an uncertain hand through his chestnut hair and eyed Inez carefully. The ramrod straight line of her posture suggested she wanted this topic dispensed with as quickly as possible. Still, he could not stop himself from asking the question that weighed upon him.

"Are you all right, Inez?"

"I am fine," she said brusquely. He knew better. He had not missed the way her spine had stiffened, or how the small smile at the corner of her mouth had tightened into place, belying her words.

Suddenly, and with resolve, she crossed the landing and descended the short flight of steps to the taproom floor, masking all traces of unease and discomfort as she approached the table he and Vin had taken beside the door.

"Do you want some breakfast?"

Ezra nodded, seeing through her tactic and understanding it. There would be no further discussion of this unpleasant event. It was to be brushed aside and ignored like the elephant in the corner. He supposed he could live with that. He had done so all his life. Maude had made that particular technique of avoidance a veritable art form. You saved your troubles for tomorrow and took your pleasures today. Mañana, he thought wryly, taking another sip of his cooling coffee. His mother had practically invented the concept.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

There was twenty dollars in the pot and he'd lost ten in the last hand to the Mexican sitting across from him. This, Ezra reflected, was one of the reasons why he had preferred to avoid honest games. For once though, the tension that he felt had nothing to do with the cards in his hand or the money on the table. He was more than confident of the pair of Queens he held, and even if Lady Luck chose not to smile upon him at this particular moment, he could not blame her for turning her favors upon the Vaquero, Juan Carillo.

Though not a die-hard regular of the saloon, the Mexican dropped in every now and then with one trail drive or another, and Ezra had come to know a little something of the small dark man who occasionally sat in at his table. Carillo was a widower, fortyish, quiet and hard working, with a young daughter he'd left in Mexico to be raised by his sister. Unlike most of the poor souls who found their way to his table, he had found the Mexican to be a shrewd player, and he had come to enjoy the challenge of an honest game of cards with the man. So much so in fact, that he felt no sting of regret at the sums of money the Vaquero occasionally won from him.

"Hey gringo, are you going to play or what?" Carillo's voice interrupted his musings and Ezra quickly returned his attention to the game at hand, somewhat irritated with himself for allowing the distraction.

"My apologies," Ezra said drolly laying his cards down upon the table. "I did not realize you were in such a hurry to return to your bawling beasts. He considered the pot for a moment. "I believe the bet was two dollars?"

Carillo nodded.

"Very well," Ezra said pitching a chip into the pot and adding another. "I'll see it, and call."

"Jacks and sevens," Carillo said, laying down the pair in his hand beside the row of cards dealt face up on the table.

Ezra shook his head and sighed. "I am sorry, amigo, but it appears my two ladies here have won the day." He laid the Queens in his hand down upon the table top and pulled the third Queen and pair of sevens to his side of the table. "Full House," he said mildly.

Carillo shoved the cards and chips away from him, muttering a small Spanish epithet under his breath.

Ezra consulted the small tally book he kept in his breast pocket. "Cheer up, Juan. It could be worse. At least this time you'll be leaving my table no poorer than you came."

"Actually, it will be twenty pesos poorer," Carillo corrected wryly.

Ezra smiled, flashing a glimpse of his gold tooth. "Not if you buy me a drink," he said. Raising his head he waved a hand to catch Inez's attention.

Winding her way through the tables, she approached the landing where he kept his private table. "Si?"

"Whiskey, Inez, and two glasses if you please," he selected two small silver coins out of the pot and pushed them towards her. "Señor Carillo is buying."

She nodded brusquely and moved off again, but Ezra had noticed her taut expression and his gaze narrowed upon her as she wound her way through the crowded tables to the bar. No, he had not imagined the air of tension that had descended over the room.

He quickly scanned the crowded taproom, his eyes settling on a table in the center of the room, near the door. It had been vacant a few moments before, but now a small group of soldiers were seated at it. Their expressions were dark and antagonizing. Ezra slowly gathered his cards, his mind spinning furiously as he assessed the situation. No one had come to collect the prisoners as yet, but Chris and Vin had returned from the camp, so it was more than likely that news of last night's events had spread through the ranks. Collecting the poker chips, he began stacking them in neat methodical ranks. Just as Lady Luck had not favored Juan Carillo, it appeared she was not going to smile upon him, either. He counted five of the troopers, and no sign of Vin or Nathan or anyone else upon whom he could count for back up.

As if that were anything new…

"Trouble?" The word was spoken so softly that Ezra did not immediately register it, but when he did he found himself looking into the surprisingly intent face of the Mexican cowboy.

"Undoubtedly," he said, keeping his voice equally soft and his eyes fixed upon the soldiers.

Carillo spared a small glance over his shoulder following Ezra's gaze to the table of uniformed men. "Ah," he said, a note of comprehension entering his voice. _"Los soldados._ I have seen them about. I have heard they cannot spend their red paper?"

"Not here, certainly," Ezra agreed. "And apparently not anywhere else they desire to do business." He shot a meaningful glance across the street to the bath house, and Maggie Devane's tastefully shuttered establishment.

Carillo chuckled. It was a soft dry sound of genuine amusement. "And to think I feared this town was in danger of being tamed."

"You need not worry on that account," Ezra drawled as he watched Inez wind her way back through the crowd with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on a tray. "I am quite confident that we can remain suitably uncivilized for the foreseeable future."

The vaquero grinned, flashing a gap-toothed smile. "Good," he said. "I would hate to be bored."

Inez climbed the short flight of steps to their table and set the bottle of whiskey and the glasses between them. This time, Ezra could clearly see the uneasiness in her eyes and he nodded towards the soldiers seated at the table below.

"I see you have more customers," he observed.

"Si," she lingered a moment, her fingers tightening on the tray, and he saw the reluctance and uncertainty welling up inside her. He realized, quite suddenly, that she was genuinely afraid, and that realization struck a cold angry blow in the pit of his stomach. He had seen Inez deal with some of the toughest, boldest customers this frontier town had to offer and she had always shrugged them off with a laugh and a saucy smile. He had rarely seen her frightened. Not like this. Not since Don Paulo Madera had come to town. Buck had handled things then, but Buck was not here. At the moment, no one was here…save for him.

With a calmness that belied his inner thoughts, he reached for the bottle and poured two fingers of whiskey into each glass. Inez remained rooted to the spot, unwilling to leave his table. He set down the bottle and picked up the glass. He'd always supposed the act of rescuing the distressed damsels was the sort of chivalrous nonsense to which only fools such as Buck were prone. It was far more disconcerting to discover he might be susceptible to such idiotic acts of selflessness as well. Upon reflection, he decided that it was becoming a rather disturbing tendency as of late. He was not at all sure he wanted to encourage it.

He took a scorching sip of the whiskey and was acutely aware of Inez, still standing at his elbow. He could practically feel the tension radiating off her in waves.

He set down the glass, his eyes still fixed upon the soldiers, knowing in that moment that he had already lost the battle with his pale shade of a conscience.

"Go, Inez," He said quietly. "It will be worse if they see that you are afraid."

His carefully chosen words had the desired effect. She was a proud woman, and she naturally bristled at his bald acknowledgement of her temporary weakness. Dark eyes flashing, she straightened her spine and shot him a withering glare as she marched away from the table. But he did not fail to notice that she held the tray closely to her chest, as if it were a shield.

Back straight, chin up and eyes forward she marched towards the table, her anger fueling her determination to prove his assessment wrong. She fixed the men with a cheerful smile that did not quite match her eyes.

"Is there something I can get for you Señores?"

The leader of the four, a grizzled looking veteran with faded Corporal's stripes upon his sleeve, grunted in response. "Yeah. Bring us a bottle of whiskey and five glasses."

"Of course," Inez said, somehow managing to keep her voice pleasant. "That will be two dollars."

The Corporal offered a challenging smile and laid two red paper bills down on the table.

To her credit, neither her smile nor voice wavered. "Two dollars in coin," she said firmly.

The men fixed her with unfriendly stares.

"What's the matter little Missy?" The Corporal growled, "Ain't our money good enough for you?"

"Maybe we got somethin' else she'll like better," one of the other men leered.

Inez's naturally dark complexion seemed to pale a bit, but she stood her ground. "Actually," she said calmly, "I would be glad to accept your money if it were up to me, but my employer strictly forbids it. Her rule is clear: gold or nothing."

"And just who is your employer?" A third trooper snarled, "Another uppity Mexican whore?"

"Mexican, no…." a coldly gentile voice broke in, "As to the other…" Ezra paused, seeming to consider the question. "Though my role as devoted progeny requires me to take exception to the slur, I have often found that it is best to let my mother speak for herself."

Fixing the soldiers with his most enterprising smile, Ezra shouldered between Inez and the table. "I see that there appears to be a problem. Perhaps I can be of service?"

"An' just who the hell are you?" The corporal growled.

"Why Gentlemen," he said slowly, flashing a bright golden tooth, "I may be the answer to your prayers."

Ezra spoke with his best air of nonchalance, but his mind was racing as he assessed the situation and the men before him. It had not been lost upon him that Juan Carillo had shifted slightly as he'd left their table, and he'd seen that the vaquero's hand now rested within easy reach of the large dragoon pistol strapped to his hip. He found himself somewhat surprised by the gesture. It had been a very long time since anyone, other than the six men he rode with had backed him in a situation. The part of his mind that was not swiftly calculating odds and approaches silently wondered if Carillo felt obliged due to their friendly encounters over the card table, or if it had more to do with defending a woman of his own kind. It was hard to tell in a place like this. One could rarely be certain of a man's motivations.

He could, however, be fairly confident of the motivations of the men before him. They wanted a drink, or a fight, or perhaps both. If they could not get one, they would most certainly seek out the other. At the most fundamental level however, they were simply bored and surly. What they really wanted was a distraction, and in that, he knew, he could most certainly oblige them.

It was then that he saw it. Had he been at all a religious man, he would have considered it an epiphany: a moment when the very heavens opened up and a ray of enlightened sunshine shown down upon him as a chorus of angels sang hallelujah and the idea was born. Oh, he was the answer to their prayers, all right. And they were the answer to his. There was money to be made here, he saw quickly. –Money, and an opportunity to avert this sticky situation with some careful persuasion.

"I am afraid Inez is quite correct. My mother is rather intransigent in her business transactions. If Inez were to accept payment in anything other than coin or Federal notes, she would not be long employed here. I, however, am bound by no such mercenary tendencies."

"I don't see how that helps us any," one of the troopers growled. "You don't own this place."

"No," Ezra said agreeably as he pulled a chair up to their table. "I do, however, own these…" he set the deck of cards in the middle of the table, "…and these." Reaching into his pocket he extracted the wad of greenbacks he had won from Carillo. Fanning them out with a deft flick of his fingers, he set them on the table before him.

He paused a long moment, letting the sight of the money sink in and smiled again, his gold tooth glinting in the sunlight that shown in from the open door.

"Might I interest you all in a game of chance?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Something had happened. Buck Wilmington could feel it the moment the gray mare rounded the bend past the Ritz Hotel and carried him down the wide bustling main street of Four Corners. There was a twittering, nervous excitement in the air that he readily associated with a calamity or confrontation of some sort or another. Judging from the wide berth the boardwalk traffic was giving to the lean dark figure seated outside the Jail, he'd be willing to bet that flying lead was somehow involved.

He reined the gray in just a few feet shy of the Clarion's front door and took in the street with a knowing eye. "Aw hell," he muttered, more to himself than the horse. "Now what did we miss?"

"There does appear to be a decided tension in the air," Josiah Sanchez agreed, drawing abreast of him. The preacher nodded towards the ominous form that tilted back in the chair outside the jail's sun-warmed wall, glowering at the world from beneath the wide flat brim of the black hat.

"Perhaps Brother Larabee could enlighten us as to its cause."

"Oh, I've no doubt of that." Buck made no move to urge his mount forward, clearly reluctant to progress with the suggestion.

"We likely ought to tell him about that Army Supply train we crossed tracks with," Josiah prodded.

"You tell him," Buck snorted, recognizing all the signs of a particularly foul Chris Larabee mood. "I'd like to live long enough to have a drink and wash the dust outta my gullet."

Before Josiah could respond, Buck wheeled his mount and prepared to cut down the alley behind the Clarion instead of continuing down the main street.

"Taking the road less traveled, brother?" Josiah queried, noting Buck's grim look of determination.

"Hell yes," Buck muttered. "If we ride past him, we'll have to say hello and he'll bite our heads off. If we ride past him and don't say hello, he'll bite our heads off and kick 'em down the street." The big man eyed the preacher solemnly. "I do believe I'd like to keep my head right where it is, if it's all the same to you."

The preacher nodded and turned his horse to follow. "Discretion is the better part of valor," he said sagely.

Buck cast him a searching look as he turned the gray mare to circle behind the Clarion and down the long row of buildings to the Livery. "Uh-huh… well, I don't know much about discretion, but I'll swap valor for horse sense any day."

He turned his mare down the back street towards the warren of pens and lots nestled behind the livery. "Besides, we can just as well send Yosemite and that new wheelwright, Mulroney out there to help those Army boys. There's no need to trouble Chris about it."

Josiah nodded to a small knot of horses tied to the fence of one of the corrals. They wore military saddles and government brands marked them at both shoulder and hip. "Looks like this must be the rest of that company the supply train was supposed to meet up with."

Buck sighed. "Well, I reckon that answers the question as to why they weren't out lookin' for their wagons. Most likely they hit town and got distracted."

"Couldn't have been too distracted," Josiah said, "Considering the supply train had their payroll."

Buck made a noncommittal noise as he halted the gray at the door of the livery. His mind was starting to sketch a likely picture to go with the tension fraught street, but he didn't say as much to Josiah. "I don't know about you, but I could do with a little distraction myself."

"Amen, brother." Josiah replied as they swung down and led their mounts into the barn.

Unsaddling their horses, they rubbed them down and gave the animals a generous measure of oats from the granary before turning their tired mounts into the corral to join the others. Crossing the street, they resolutely made their way up the boardwalk and into the saloon. The smoky interior was dark, but welcoming as Buck and Josiah elbowed their way up to the bar for Inez's famous spring-cooled beer. Slapping a coin down upon the bar, Buck nodded sociably to the grizzled man beside him as he waited for his drink.

"How's business, Ike?"

Ike Deavers nodded companionably. "Can't complain," the teamster said. "Since the army garrisoned camp outside of town, I can't keep the storekeepers in goods."

"Things do seem a bit livelier than usual," Buck observed.

Ike merely chuckled. "Son, that just might be the understatement of the week."

Buck meant to ask the old man what he meant by the comment, but Inez chose that moment to deliver the icy brew, then quickly whirled off before Buck could so much as thank her. He took his beer and followed Josiah, who had moved off to join Nathan, JD and Vin at a near-by table.

"Howdy boys," Buck said, taking a seat opposite Nathan. "I see you let the place go clean to Hell while I was gone." He nodded at the tables filled with soldiers. "They stayin' long?"

In the wilderness of the territories, most folks found comfort in the presence of the army. Still, there was something about the sudden flood of uniforms on the streets of town that set his teeth on edge. The quiet tension he sensed in his comrades told him he was not alone in his sentiments. In fact, the nervous energy that he had sensed upon the streets of town seemed magnified tenfold within the dimly lit building. There was a definite line, he noticed, between the saloon's usual patrons and the soldiers who filled the normally empty tables. There was a tightening around Nathan's mouth as he glanced at the newcomers, and JD seemed unusually serious as they watched Inez dart among the tables serving drinks and taking orders. Buck frowned. Even the saucy Mexican bar maid did not seem quite herself. There was wariness in her movements and forced levity in her smiles as she placed drinks before her customers. Only Ezra, ensconced at his usual table with a deck of cards, a glass of whiskey and deeply involved in a poker game with several soldiers, seemed completely at ease.

Vin's blue eyes were watchful as he tracked Inez's progress through the tap room. "Chris spoke to the Major this morning. They're waitin' to meet up with a supply train from Fort McPhearson, then they'll be movin' on to build a new outpost south of here."

"They'll be waiting a mite longer then," Josiah put in. "We came across their wagons a mile south of Parson's Grove. They had some trouble coming through the pass."

JD quirked an interested eyebrow. "What kind of trouble?"

Josiah shrugged. Some Apache braves out on a hunting party decided to make it a war party instead. They took some shots at them."

Nathan frowned. "Anyone hurt?"

Buck shook his head. "Naw. Banged up one of their corporals is all. They did lose one of the wagons though. Team spooked, the tongue broke and the whole load went tumbling right over the edge of the cliff. That boy's lucky he bailed out when he did or he'd a ended up at the bottom of Dawson's gulch flatter than one of Inez's tortilla's."

JD snorted. "You'd think with all the trouble those renegade Apaches have been giving lately, they would have sent more soldiers with those wagons."

"I reckon that's what they were sending the wagons and these fellas out to build that outpost for in the first place," Vin sighed. "Of course they might have thought to send them together."

Nathan grimaced. "That there is what they call military planning," he said dryly.

Vin slouched back in his seat and regarded Buck with steady blue eyes. "Those fellas gonna need any help?"

Buck shook his head. "Already took care of it. They got a broken axle on one of the wagons and lost a wheel on another. We made a mention of it to Yosemite when we put up the horses, and Josiah stopped one of their sergeants on the street to tell him and pass the word along." He shrugged. "Maybe if a few of these boys ride out after those wagons it will smooth Chris's hackles some. I imagine all this extra company is what has put him in his sparklin' mood?"

Vin and Nathan exchanged meaningful looks with JD. "Among other things," Nathan said at last.

Buck shot a hard look at the kid. He had schooled his features into his best imitation of Ezra's famous poker face, but his brown eyes fairly danced with some barely contained knowledge. Yep, Buck decided sitting back in his chair, something had definitely happened. He was about to reach over and shake the information out of the kid when an angelic vision swept past him in a swirl of sun-faded skirts.

"Hola, Señor Buck. I see you are back at last." Inez danced through the tangled crowd of tables in her own mad version of a ballet dance as she set a fresh mug before Nathan.

Buck fixed her with what he imagined to be his most dazzling smile. "Miss me?"

She returned the smile, but not the affection. "Of course, Señor, I miss all of our paying customers."

"I think she's warming up to me," Buck said happily.

"In your dreams, maybe," Nathan snorted.

"A man's got to have his dreams, Nathan," Buck pronounced and sipped his beer thoughtfully. "What did she mean by that 'paying customer' crack? I paid up my tab before I left town."

Nathan sighed. "Soldiers are short on real money. They been buying things around town with Army script –or trying to, anyways. Inez is one of the merchants refusing to accept it. She ain't real popular at the moment."

Buck's face darkened. "They give her any trouble?"

JD's brown eyes danced. "Not any more. Ezra's handling it."

Buck turned to stare at the gambler, still seated at his usual table and surrounded by soldiers. Only then did he notice that what appeared to be a poker game was not at all the case. The cards had been laid aside and tidy stacks of US currency and military script were placed in orderly rows upon the table. Ezra was making small notations in his ever present notebook as a row of soldiers lined up before his table.

"What's he up to now?" Buck wondered.

Nathan frowned. "You are looking at the Standish First National Bank, established as of about an hour ago. He's been exchanging script for currency, giving them about fifty cents on the dollar. He figures that when the payroll wagon shows up with the supply train, he'll clean up."

"That's highway robbery!" Buck growled.

Amusement glinted in Vin's blue eyes. "That's what they said," the tracker observed. "Of course at the time they were playin' cards for the money, even up. Guess they figure this way they've at least got a fightin' chance at a drink."

"Good old Ezra," Buck said, feeling the broad grin spreading it's way across his face as he digested this news, "he's always workin' the angles, ain't he?"

Nathan snorted. "He'll end up swingin' from the end of one if he ain't careful. Give those fellas enough whiskey and some time to think about it, and they'll be lookin' to stretch his neck."

"Aw, I reckon he's ok as long as the money holds out." JD put in. "That Army train will be in with the payroll wagon anytime now, and Ezra ought to be able to cash it in."

_Or maybe not…_ Buck thought as he met Josiah's knowing eyes and struggled to contain the laughter that threatened to escape him. He and the preacher might be late to the dance, but he had an inkling that there was at least one more tune to be called. He fully intended to have himself a ringside seat to Ezra's table when that Army supply train finally arrived, bruised, broken …and one wagon short. He shot a glance towards Josiah, wondering if the other man was going to spill the beans now, or let it ride, but the preacher seemed to content to silently sip his beer.

The clatter of a heavy wagon and a bellowing voice brought JD quickly from his chair. The young Sheriff peered out the curtained window, his boyish face looking quite grim and serious. "The Lieutenant's back," he called out over his shoulder.

"Reilly?" Nathan queried.

JD nodded. "He brought the ambulance, too."

_Ambulance?_ Buck wondered, his brow furrowing as both Tanner and Jackson got to their feet and followed JD out onto the boardwalk. Shore as hell, he was gonna throttle somebody if they didn't tell him just what in blazes was going on around here. Slipping through the swinging doors, Buck took a position beside the door. Josiah followed suit, leaning against a post opposite Nathan. If the older man was curious as to the strange undercurrents that seemed to be running through both the town and their comrades, he didn't show it. Instead, he remained a stoic witness, confident that all would be revealed in good time. Buck sighed. The preacher's patience was enough to try his own.

After another moment, Ezra appeared with Inez hovering nervously behind his shoulder. Even Mary Travis could now be seen standing at the door of the Clarion and gazing down the street. Buck shook his head. Whatever this was about, the whole damned town seemed to be waiting with baited breath.

Larabee was on his feet now, the height of the elevated boardwalk giving him a slight advantage over the mounted officer. Their voices were low enough that none of the six could make out the words, but their dark, terse expressions clearly revealed that the two were not exchanging pleasantries. After a moment, the Lieutenant turned and barked a terse order to the men who accompanied him. Two privates and a corporal dismounted and linked their horses. The corporal passed his lead to the sergeant in charge of the detail. One of the troopers assisted an orderly in unloading a stretcher from the ambulance, and the four men filed into the Jail behind Chris.

"You know, I got the feelin' Josiah and I have been a day late an' a dollar short ever since we hit town." Buck groused, watching as the orderly and one of the privates returned bearing a wounded soldier on the stretcher. "Is there somethin' you boys wanna share?"

He did not miss the swift exchange of glances that bounced between Ezra, Vin and Nathan. A mutual, unspoken agreement was reached and the gambler shifted lightly, his tongue darting out to touch his bottom lip as he formulated his answer.

"It's nothing to concern yourself with, Buck… a minor altercation at best."

"If it was so damned minor, then how come they're haulin' that fella out on a board?" Buck asked sarcastically.

The gambler hesitated, but remained as unflappable as ever. "There seemed to be some misunderstanding as to the correct closing time here at the saloon. Regrettably, some individuals require more convincing than others."

"What did ya' convince him with? Your .45?"

The gambler smiled, "The derringer, actually."

Buck snorted with disbelief. "You laid him low with _that_ pea shooter?"

Ezra's smile broadened, his gold tooth shining brightly in the afternoon sun. "Size is irrelevant, Mr. Wilmington. It's all in the accuracy …and the caliber of the piece."

The wounded man was loaded carefully into the ambulance, then the corporal and the other private appeared marshalling out yet another trooper in irons. This man was placed in the back of the ambulance with his fellow prisoner, and a mounted guard formed at the back of the wagon. At a word from the officer, the Sergeant barked a crisp command, wheeling the column in the middle of the street and taking it back out of town in the direction from which it had come. Larabee had returned to his chair, his gaze crossing the street to meet the eyes of his comrades. A dark smile lit his features and was instantly returned by Vin, who shifted away from the post he'd been leaning against and ambled back into the saloon. It was followed by brief nods from Nathan and JD and Ezra's two fingered salute, as the rest of their number filed back inside after the Texan. Buck tossed his own brief nod towards the gunman and then turned to Josiah, who was watching the progress of the departing column with a thoughtful expression.

"Why is it I get the feeling there's a whole lot more to this than Ezra let on?" Buck grumbled.

The preacher smiled wryly. "There is always more to a story than Ezra is ever willing to tell." He shot Buck a knowing look. "Rest assured, Brother, we will know all in good time. I suspect this particular tale is such that our young Mr. Dunne will not be able to suppress it for long."

Buck frowned at his empty mug as he puzzled over Josiah's words. The preacher had been growing unusually eloquent as of late. --Too much reading, most likely. He was getting almost as confusing as Ezra.

"Well," Buck said glumly, "if I ain't gonna get any information, I might as well get another drink."

Shoving their way back inside the saloon, Buck noticed that the place seemed to have resumed its bustling trade. Elbowing their way back up to the bar, Buck found himself standing once more between Yosemite and Ike Deavers. Nodding again to each of the men, he shoved over to make room for Josiah as he looked about for Inez. He spotted her moving around the far end of the bar, her tray loaded with brimming mugs. Buck watched as she skillfully moved among the crowded bodies, stepping to a dance all her own as she dodged beyond the reach of groping hands.

Being a connoisseur of women, Buck had spent a great deal of his spare time watching them, studying their habits in hope of best discovering how to charm them. Inez was no exception, and though he as virtually on the brink of conceding his failure in swaying her with his charms, he still found watching her a far better pastime than staring at the unshaven faces of his comrades. He had noticed that there was a method to her madness, a patter to her movements as she moved from table to table dispensing her drinks. She carefully avoided those customers who seemed to show undue interest in her, often serving drinks from behind a patron who appeared either the most formidable or the least interested, and using that customer as a shield. Among the seven men who frequently seated themselves around their usual table, he had noticed that she usually positioned herself between Chris or Nathan, counting on the healer's stuffy disapproval and the dark gunman's grim demeanor to buffer her from Buck's own incessant advances when she was not in the mood to spar with him.

Ezra, it appeared, had become another one of her favored safe zones. Each time she served the table of soldiers over which he was currently presiding, she did so from behind his shoulder, often reaching across or over him to serve the other men. What was more, she never strayed more than a step or two from the gambler's side as she waited on the other tables surrounding his own. Nor did Buck miss the quick, darting glances that the Southerner cast her way as she moved out of his direct vicinity. Buck's brow furrowed. This was a new development. He observed the two intently for a moment, considering their easy familiarity, and then quickly dismissed the idea as ludicrous. Ezra's interest in women was based purely on money, and Inez had none. As for Inez, he was well aware that she had standards. Lord knew she'd told him that often enough.

Inez quickly emptied her tray and returned to the bar where she poured more rounds for the customers that awaited her there. Placing fresh drinks before Yosemite, Josiah, Buck and Ike, she refilled her empty tray and dodged back out among the crowded tables.

"I shore wouldn't mind getting closer to that little Spanish spitfire," a brash and slightly drunken young voice mused from the other side of Ike Deavers.

"No spit there, son," Deavers' gritty voice observed from behind his mug. "Best not to try touchin' that one or she'll burn you for sure."

At the mention of Inez, five sets of ears tuned instantly to the conversation, but relaxed a bit at the teamster's effort to warn the stranger off.

"In that case, I reckon me an' her could really burn the place down," the younger man said, a lewd grin playing at his mouth.

Buck bit back his own smile and sipped his beer. Having been publicly struck down on his own account more times than he could remember, he was rather looking forward to participating in this round as a spectator. It sounded like the kid could use some manners where it came to talk of women, and Buck knew it would only be a matter of time before someone threw a bucket of water on the newcomer's smoldering desire. He did not have long to wait.

Ike Deavers cackled heartily, his grizzled face splitting into a broad grin as he eyed the other man. "Take my advice friend, an' leave well enough alone." The teamster paused to nod towards the table placed high upon the staircase landing. "The last man fool enough to mess with Standish's woman got his balls shot off for the trouble."

Ike's words caught Buck in mid-swallow, causing him to choke and splutter on his beer as he gasped for breath.

"What!" He roared turning several heads with his indignation.

The teamster fixed Buck with a gap-toothed grin. "It's true! You don't believe me? Ask your healer friend."

Buck shot a sideways glance at Yosemite. The burly liveryman grinned broadly and nodded his head. Spinning on his heel, Buck rounded on his three comrades, who sat hunkered down at their table near the bar. Guilty expressions, mingled with a good deal of resignation and even a hint of laughter marked their faces as they gave serious thought to the bottoms of their beer mugs.

Vin sighed. "Well, so much for lettin' it blow over."

JD tugged nervously at his bowler hat and rose quickly from the table. "I gotta go ride patrol," he said.

"Sit down, Kid," Buck growled, laying a hand on the young man's shoulder and shoving him back down into his chair. He glowered from Vin to Nathan to JD. "I think I've had about enough of the manure ya'll have been shovelin'. So which one of you is gonna cut the crap and tell me what in the hell has been goin' on around here?"

As Josiah had predicted, it was the kid who broke first. JD fairly bubbled with glee as he quietly related the tale of Ezra and Inez's run-in with the two soldiers the night before. Buck shook his head. For the life of him, he didn't know why they were so reluctant to mention it. If Ike and Yosemite were any indication, everybody in the whole damned town knew about it anyway. Taking off his hat, Buck ran a harried hand through his hair as he tried to hold on to the frayed remains of his temper. Furious as he was at the soldiers attempt to molest Inez, he still could not help but wince at the thought of the injury Ezra had inflicted.

"He really shot 'em off?" Buck asked, unable to repress a grimace. He made a mental note never to provoke the gambler where a woman was involved.

Nathan's dark eyes danced above the rim of his beer mug. "Well now, I like to allow my patience some privacy regarding their medical condition… but I think it's safe to say that's one horse soldier who won't be sitting a horse for a while."

"Good," Buck growled. He looked worriedly at Inez. "She all right?" he asked quietly, noting the way she moved through the tap room –too quick and too nervous—it made sense now.

"She would be if people would quit talkin' about it," Vin said tiredly. "I reckon the gossip is troublin' her more than anything."

Buck followed her movements for a long moment, his face full of concern. "Maybe I oughtta talk to her."

Nathan rolled his eyes. Hadn't the big ox heard a word Vin just said? "I wouldn't advise it. She ain't much in a talkin' mood."

The healer shook his head as Wilmington blithely moved off in pursuit of the barmaid. For all that the ladies man was supposed to know about women, his instincts tended to be dead wrong when it came to Inez.

"You think he'll ever learn?" Nathan sighed.

"He's managed to avoid it this far," Chris said, dropping into the chair Buck had just vacated.

Vin slouched back in his chair and shot Larabee a curious glance. "So what did the Army have to say?"

Chris shook his head. "They weren't happy," he allowed, "but they didn't seem to have time to argue about it."

"They got troubles of their own," Vin said, nodding towards Josiah. "Josiah and Buck ran across their missing wagons. Seem's they ran afoul of some Apache braves."

The gunman's dark gaze swiveled towards the preacher. "They all right?"

"Lost a wagon, broke a wheel and an axle on another," Josiah said. "I reckon they'll be gathering up the rest of the company and riding out any time."

Nathan watched as a small group of soldiers rose from their table and left. "Never thought I'd hear myself say such a thing," he said quietly, "but I do believe that's the best news I've heard all day."

Larabee flashed a quick dark smile and looked round for Inez.

"I'll drink to that."

"Inez…"

Inez ducked around the corner of the bar into her kitchen and closed her eyes. _Madre de Dios,_ the man simply did not know when to quit! Could he not see that she wanted to be left to her work? It was hard enough stepping out into that room, facing those men, without him chasing her apron strings. She knew by the thunderclouds in his face that he had heard about last night.

He wanted to talk about it. She did not. Now was not the time. If she spoke of it, she would remember. And if she remembered, she would live it all over again… the helplessness… the fear. She could not afford to do that right now. Ezra had been right. She could not allow them to see her fear. If she did, she would never be able to face them.

She felt his presence, looming over her, even before she opened her eyes.

"Inez," his voice was gentle, coaxing, and she steeled herself against it as she opened her eyes to meet his gaze. "Inez, are you all right?"

"I am fine," she said brusquely, and reached above the stove for a tin plate to load with beans and frijoles.

"Like hell you are," Buck growled. "You're as jumpy as a cat in a room full of hound dogs."

She said nothing as she spooned a liberal helping of beans onto the plate.

"I heard about the soldiers."

She said nothing.

"Damn it!" Buck snapped, raising his hat to rake a hand through his dark locks. "Don't you have anything to say?"

"What is there to say?" She replied, willing her hand not to shake as she laid two frijoles upon the plate. "It happened. It has been handled. It is done."

"It's not done, Inez," Buck retorted. "Those men should pay for what they did."

She shrugged. "I believe they have paid sufficiently. Ezra has seen to that."

"Ezra," Buck repeated, the name was a low growl in the back of his throat. "Why the hell didn't Ezra stop them from coming in here in the first place? –For that matter, why the hell didn't Jake? He's supposed to be the one locking up anyhow, where the devil was he?"

She set the plate of food carefully down on her small work table and hesitated as she considered her answer. She could tell him the truth. She could tell him how she had fired Jake and how Jake had gotten his revenge by plying the soldiers with liquor and setting them upon her. Her mind rode swiftly down that trail and just as quickly turned back. No, she decided. Telling Buck the truth could have only one outcome. He would ride after Jake McQueen and only more trouble would come of it. Buck, for all of his heart and sense of honor, would never be able to see what Ezra and even Vin had intuitively understood. He would never understand her embarrassment, or her burning desire for the whole matter to be forgotten. The sooner that everything returned to normal, the sooner that _she_ could be normal. She needed to forget, to pretend it had never happened. She needed to be able to walk out into that room full of men with a tray of drinks upon her arm and smile without fear.

No, she could not tell Buck the truth, but neither would she lie.

"Jake is gone," she said simply.

Buck's brow furrowed. "Gone where?"

"Quien sabe?" She said, shrugging nonchalantly. "He was a drunk. I fired him. Where he went is his business."

Buck shook his head. "I still don't like it. You shouldn't be alone."

"I'm not alone," she reminded him. "Ezra is still taking the room at the top of the stairs. Senor Vin still keeps his wagon in the alley out back and Senor Larabee, or JD or Nathan is usually here until close." She cocked her head as she considered this. "I have friends here," she said as much to herself as to Buck. "I am less alone than I have ever been."

"Inez—

"Leave it Buck," she said sharply. "It is over. I do not wish to discuss it any more."

Picking up her plates of food, she turned and marched back out into the crowded tap room. She felt her pulse jump at the sea of blue uniforms crowded round the tables and lining the bar, but mindful of Ezra's advice, she forged into the midst of them, forcing back her fear and uneasiness. She could do this, she told herself. She had to do this. Ezra was right. She could not let them see her fear, and it was just for a little while longer. She had overheard what Buck and Josiah had said about the Army supply train being delayed. She could pretend to be brave until then. If she thought very hard about what Ezra had said, if she reminded herself that he and Vin and Nathan had hardly left the saloon all day, well she thought she could last that long. She had friends here, she reminded herself, and if she was very careful with it, she might have just enough courage to last until morning. And, as Ezra had said, things would be different then.

Fixing a smile upon her face, she walked to a table filled with soldiers and set the plates of food before them. Mañana, she told herself as she side-stepped a too-friendly hand. It could not come soon enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

What a difference a day made, JD Dunn thought as he drained his mug. Thirty-six hours later the noisy, crowded, smoke-filled tap room was as silent as a grave yard. The town was quiet and the army gone. Save for the seven weary men sprawled in the chairs scattered at the edge of the bar, the saloon was devoid of customers.

The young Sheriff let his gaze fall upon the grim figure that sat opposite him. The gambler was staring, disconsolate, at the large stack of bills on the table between them. He'd watched Standish count it at least three times, and each tally seemed only to depress the Southerner more. Pushing aside one of the bundles of military script, JD made room for his empty beer mug.

"Cheer up, Ez," he said, "They only lost the one wagon, and the Major says there's sure to be another payroll shipment through next month."

"I sincerely hope it is better guarded than this one was," Ezra said glumly, "or else it will be New Year's before I realize my investment."

"Longer than that," Vin said, favoring his sore leg, as he eased himself from his chair. "Army only sends a payroll shipment every three months. –Leastwise, that was the way it worked when I was scouting for them."

The groan which this reminder elicited from the Southerner was followed by Nathan's grim satisfaction that more than bordered on gloating.

"Just goes to show you, Ezra, there ain't nothin' to be gained by cheatin' honest men out of their wages."

Ezra was still in the process of forming a suitably glib response to the healer's jibe when the deep, resonant chime of the Regulator clock sounded the closing hour. "Saved by the proverbial bell," he murmured as his colleagues reluctantly rose from their chairs, bid Inez goodnight and filed out into the darkness.

Vin, the gambler noted absently, was moving more slowly than usual. Likely, Nathan's dose of laudanum had finally worn off and he was starting to feel the full effects of his skirmish with the drunken Corporal who'd been wielding a bowie knife just a bit too enthusiastically over at Digger Dave's establishment. Larabee, however, appeared to have suffered no visible ill effects from the chair broken across his back in the same encounter. Ezra felt a small twinge of envy as the older man rose easily from his chair, donned his hat and shuffled off into the night. Likely the half bottle of whiskey Chris had consumed had helped his cause somewhat. He only wished he were that well lubricated. As it was, the dull throb of his own bruised ribs was intruding upon his consciousness. It had been careless of him, really. He doubted that trooper would ever have landed the blow if he hadn't been distracted enough to drop his right and provide the man an opening. Lord, but he hurt, and this time he had nothing to show for it. --Less than nothing, actually. Perhaps he should follow Larabee's example.

Reaching into his pocket he extracted his silver flask and uncapped it. He was preparing to pour a liberal amount into the empty glass before him when his eye fell once again upon the large stacks of military script. He hesitated, thinking better of the action. The flask itself was almost empty and the fine bottle stowed in the back of his wardrobe was rapidly draining of its contents. He was going to have to ration himself. Maude would not send him another such bottle until Christmas –if she remembered to send one at all—and his financial situation was such that he could no longer afford to drink from the bar.

He was surprised, therefore, when a bottle was suddenly placed before him with a solid, business-like thump. He looked up into the grim features and serious eyes of Buck Wilmington. There was a scrape of wood as Buck pushed back a chair and took a seat opposite him. After a moment's deliberation, Buck picked up the bottle, filled Ezra's glass and then his own.

The gambler's jade-green gaze flicked to the drink before him, and then to the man who had poured it. Picking up the glass, he held it to the lamplight and considered the amber contents. "Forbidden nectar to the parched soul," he drawled, letting his eyes wander over Wilmington's implacable features. "I am indebted."

Buck shook his head. "That ain't nothing new," he growled, picking up his glass and tossing down the drink. Ezra followed suit.

After a momen picked up the bottle and refilled both glasses. "I get the feeling, Buck, that there is something particular you wish to ask me."

Buck nodded grimly. "There is."

Ezra leaned back in his chair. "I am all ears," he said fixing Buck with his full attention.

Buck cast a wary glance about the empty taproom, ensuring that they were alone. Then he turned his gaze back to Ezra, his brown eyes dark and intent.

"What's goin' on with you and Inez?"

Ezra stared at him blankly. "I beg your pardon?"

Buck scowled irritably. "Ever since that run-in the two of you had with those soldiers Inez has been as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin' chairs."

"Quite understandable, given the recent turn of events," Ezra said.

"Oh, it ain't Inez I'm havin' a problem understandin'" Buck said.

Ezra was tempted to point this out as a milestone event, but saw the dark tension in Buck's face and thought better of it.

"It's you," Buck said firmly.

"Excuse me?" Ezra said, his brows climbing towards his hairline.

"You ain't let her out of your sight all day," Buck said grimly. "Mind you, you're right careful about it, dartin' little glances at her when you don't think anyone's looking, but you ain't left this room, let alone this table since you got up this morning. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were keeping an eye on her."

Ezra cast Buck an irritated glance. "I do believe Mr. Wilmington, that you are the only man I know capable of letting your libido lead you to such ridiculous reasoning. Inez is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She hardly needs looking after."

"She needed it the other night," Buck reminded him.

The gambler shrugged. "An exceptional incident," he allowed. "Anyone can occasionally find themselves embroiled in circumstances beyond their own capabilities –including you or me. Vin and I simply lent a hand."

"Funny," Buck said. "It ain't Vin's name bein' bandied about. It's you an Inez." The big man shifted slightly in his chair. "That ain't what Ike Deavers said today." His dark brown eyes drilled into Ezra. "Some fool kid came in earlier today, talkin' big about Inez. You know what Ike said?"

Ezra shook his head.

"He called her _Standish's woman_," Buck growled, "an' told him what you did to the last feller that messed with her. It shut the kid down quick enough," Buck paused, "but it makes me wonder. If that's what's flappin' out of Ike's jaws then God only knows what the rest of the town is sayin'."

Ezra snorted. "Idle gossip," he said dismissively. "Leave it alone and it will pass soon enough."

"Will it?" Buck challenged. "Folks didn't say much when McAllister's boys half skinned you with that horsewhip and Inez took you in here to look after you. After all, this was your ma's saloon and Inez works for Maude. It made sense in a way. But then you got better, and you didn't bother goin' back to your rooms at the boarding house, and folks have started to wonder."

"They shouldn't," Ezra said shortly. "That old crone Rafferty rented out my usual room during my infirmity. I still say Travis should have taken more of an issue with her, seeing as how she violated the terms of our civic peacekeeping contract."

Buck was not so easily deflected from his topic of conversation. "Yeah, well you ain't been lookin' for new lodgings, either."

Ezra scowled and prepared to rise from the table. "Really, Buck, it's been a long day and I am afraid I see little point in wasting my time on the ridiculous musings of fallow minds."

Buck's hand shot out and gripped his arm, forcing him back into his chair. "Is it?" he demanded.

Ezra sighed and removed Buck's hand from his sleeve. "It is," he assured him tiredly, "though by now I hardly expect you to take my word for it. Unfortunately, since most idle gossip is unsubstantiated, I fear there is little I can offer you in the way of proof _except_ my word."

Buck looked at him for a long moment. "I gotta admit," he said at last. "Inez ain't exactly your type."

Ezra stared at him blankly. "My type?" he said, not entirely certain what Buck was referring to.

Buck nodded. "You don't generally go for strong women, like as not they remind you too much of Maude, and we all know it don't take much for you to git a belly full of her." Buck said dryly.

He gave the Southerner a long, considering stare. "You ain't all that fond of proper ladies, either. Oh, you can put up a good act for a while, but in the end, they make you uncomfortable. --Come to that, you like the working girls well enough, but you generally consider them beneath you." Buck shook his head. "Naw, you generally tend to go for the innocents, like that poor little Chinese gal you won in that tile game a few months back. You like the lost ones, the poor and the helpless. They're like the kids, they get around that phony shell of yours and wrap you around their finger."

Ezra felt the slow flush of anger beginning to creep up the back of his neck, but restrained it with effort as he pushed back his chair. "Since you appear to have satisfied yourself with this rather convoluted and juvenile logic," he said stiffly, "I do believe I shall take my leave and bid you a good night, Mr. Wilmington."

Buck watched him as he collected the neat stacks of army script and began shoving them into his frock coat until the pockets bulged. No doubt about it, Buck thought. Ezra was riled. He only got all stiff and formal like that when he was feelin' prickly. The question was, which part had riled him? --The observations about Inez, or about his relations with women in general? Likely it was the latter, Buck decided. Ez could put on a mighty good poker face when it came to womenfolk, but it only lasted about so long.

It had occurred to Buck on more than one occasion that if a gal ever close enough to the gambler to scrape away that thin veneer of polished manners and Southern gentility, she'd find old Ez' shaking in his boots. He suspected that deep down, Standish was really quite bashful about women. No big surprise, really. Most men were –especially out here in the west, where womenfolk could be scarce and encounters with them few and far between. Still, he wondered if Ezra had ever really been close with a woman. Somehow, he doubted it. From what he could see, Ezra wasn't much of one for lettin' anybody get too close and frankly from what Buck could tell, Ezra wasn't as much of a hand with the fairer sex as he made himself out to be. Mary Travis had his number from the day he hit town, and it had only taken that widow woman on the wagon train about a day and a half to read him like a cheap dime novel. –And if that was the case, Buck thought, then what the hell was he worrying about? Inez had been here almost a year, and she was as sharp woman as he'd ever seen. By now she'd seen Ez in all of his colors. She wouldn't be fooled by his shenanigans.

He scraped back his own chair and rose from the table. Ezra was collecting the last of the army bills and stuffing them into his upturned hat. Buck sighed and hooked his fingers into his belt loops.

"Look, Ez, I didn't mean to put a burr under your blanket," he began, "but Inez is a good woman."

"I am aware of that," Ezra said brusquely.

Buck swore softly. "Aw, hell, I'm just sayin' what with all that happened, the way the two of you were actin' and Ike flappin' his jaws…" the big man shrugged. "I just didn't want folks getting' the wrong idea is all."

Ezra shot him a piercing look. "And you assume I do?"

Buck threw up his hands. "Now I ain't sayin' that!"

The gambler expelled an irritated and slightly dangerous breath. "Then pray tell, Mr. Wilmington, just what are you saying?"

Buck raked a hand through his hair, then reached for his own hat and jammed it on his head. He drew in a sharp breath and exhaled it slowly as he struggled to collect both wits and temper. "What I'm sayin, is be careful. Inez is a strong woman, but she ain't tough like your ma. She had enough grief out of life before she came here, an' she don't need any more."

Reaching down, Buck picked up the glass on the table before him and tossed down the last of the whiskey. He swallowed and made a small noise in the back of his throat, shaking off the burn like a dog shedding water, then set the glass down hard on the green baize surface of the table.

"What I'm tellin' ya," Buck said hoarsely. "—Is to be mighty careful with that woman, 'cause if I find out you've caused her grief? --I'll snap your scrawny neck like a Lucifer stick." Without another word, the big man wheeled and strode out of the saloon, disappearing into the night.

"Oh Good Lord," Ezra sighed, watching him go. If there had been a worse conclusion to a more miserable day of what had to be a most miserable week, he was hard pressed to recall it. It only served to prove the fickle whims of Lady Luck. Not two nights past he had sat at this very table gathering together his winnings from what had been a most profitable evening. Now he was once again on the verge of indigence.

And where in Lucifer's parched damnation had Buck gotten such a ridiculous notion into his head? –From Ike Deavers, obviously. But still, had he really paid Inez that much undue attention?

Well…yes, he supposed that he had. What was it Buck had said? _You like the innocents, the lost ones, the poor and the vulnerable._ There was a fragment of truth in that. There was something in those waif-like souls that called to him. The raging cynic within him concluded that it was likely because they were too naïve to recognize him for what he really was. But there was another part –a part of him that had once been that innocent, that vulnerable—that whispered it was something more. It was the desire to protect those sweet and fragile souls from those men who would take advantage of them. –Men like himself.

Inez, however, was far from an innocent, and though she was of humble origins, 'vulnerable' was not a word that immediately leapt to mind when contemplating the spirited Mexican woman. Except that she had been vulnerable, he thought uneasily, remembering that night and the way she had clung to him, trembling in his arms. Then there was yesterday, when that table full of soldiers had challenged her. He'd seen that she'd been ready to bolt. It was that, more than anything that had prompted him to intervene.

Some silent bit of intuition had told him that if she'd backed down then and fled, she'd never again have the fortitude to return. He hadn't wanted that. Inez had become a fixture of this haven in which he had ensconced himself. She was a more than competent bar maid and an excellent cook. She knew his tastes and his habits, as she did all of her regular customers. Furthermore, she had become a flash of bright color and amusement in this frequently drab little world. He enjoyed watching her dance among the customers, alternating her brilliant smiles with a slicing, deadly wit and an occasionally flashing hand that had put more men than Ike Deavers on the floor. No, he did not care to see her retreat from this place. He had become… accustomed to her presence.

The irony of this struck him hard when her soft voice drifted across room, causing him a rather undignified start.

"I suppose he means well."

He schooled his features into a rather bland expression as he turned to face her, his mind racing with possibilities, desperately wondering just how much of Buck's veiled warning she had heard. Something in her remote gaze told him it had been more than enough and certainly more than he was comfortable with.

"Does it bother you?" he asked, taking care to keep his tone casual.

She tilted her head, considering him for a long moment. "Does what bother me?"

He repressed a small scowl. "I fear that Buck may not be alone in the ridiculous conclusion he has arrived upon. No doubt Ike has done more than his share to fan the flames. Will it bother you what people say?"

She shook her head. "It cannot be worse than what they must already think," she said, and offered him a weary smile. "You and I know the truth," she said practically, and flicked a brief glance heavenward. "And Dios," she added. "His is the only opinion that matters, I think."

It was not the most comforting thought, Ezra reflected. The Almighty's opinion of him could hardly be better than that of his fellow citizens.

Wiping her hands on the soft length of linen draped over her shoulder, she moved slowly across the room towards him, stopping beside Buck's cooling chair. She indicated the bottle Buck had left. "Are you finished with that?"

He nodded. "Unless you have changed your position on paper currency, I fear that I am."

Inez quirked one ebony brow. "Que?"

He gestured to the piles of army bills stacked upon the table. "This is all I have, Inez. I cannot pay."

She considered the bills for a long moment. "It is true what Señor Vin said? That the Army will not send another pay wagon for so long?"

"I wouldn't doubt it," Ezra said morosely.

"But some day you will get your money back," she said.

"Eventually," he agreed, though he suspected that it was going to be a rather long 'eventually.' The government was infamous for its lack of ready cash and coin. During the war, both the Union and the Confederacy had been hard pressed to feed, clothe and supply their men, let alone pay them. In the years since, a great deal of the Western expansion had been fostered by veteran soldiers laying claim to the military land warrants the United States Government had paid them with in lieu of year's back wages owed. No, Vin was right. Between the Apaches and the faithful inefficiencies of the military bureaucracy, he might have a very long wait indeed.

"You will still have your pay from the Judge," Inez said.

"Deposited in the bank at the end of the month," Ezra sighed. "Alas, we are at the beginning of the month, not the end of it. I fear it is going to be a long, dry August."

The complexities of the lifestyle he had chosen required him to be a keen observer of both situations and people, and so he did not miss the fleeting expression that chased across her features. What was it exactly? Concern? Worry? It belatedly occurred to him that had he spent just a little less time observing his cards and his marks and a little more observing this woman who regularly poured his drinks and brought his meals, he might have had some idea of how to interpret it. Instead, he found himself in the rather unnerving position of uncertainty as her dark gaze traveled over his face, rendering some silent, unknown judgment. After a moment, her eyes dropped to the table, her fingers released their grip on the bottle and stretched out to fan the bills.

"You did this because of me, because I was afraid of them." It was not a question, but rather a flat statement of certainty, and it had the unnerving effect of stopping the protest half formed upon his tongue.

Her dark eyes flashed to his, steady and knowing and he felt the small trickle of sweat beading at the back of his neck. He drew in a small breath, ran the tip of his tongue along his lower lip and carefully delivered the lie.

"I did it for the money, Inez."

She smiled faintly, acknowledging the pale truth in his words with a small nod. "Of course," she agreed mildly. "You do nothing without profit, and there was a chance to make money here, but that was all it was – a chance." She tilted her head, considering him carefully. "And for a gambler, Señor, you leave as little to chance as any man I have ever known."

She picked up the bottle of whiskey and poured a small measure into Buck's empty glass and then his own. He eyed the glass with the same chagrin he had felt when Buck had been pouring.

"Inez—"

She brushed off his protest with a small wave of her fingers. "Buck paid for the whole bottle," she said. "You might as well finish it."

She pushed the glass towards him, her movements slow and deliberate. "And no matter what you say, I owe you a debt –for last night and today. Gracias, Señor."

He returned the expression with a gentle twitch of his lips. "De nada, Señorita."

Ezra glanced around the room taking in the dirty glasses, the pushed back chairs and the general disarray of the barroom. For the second time in as many nights the wispy fingers of guilt plucked at him. There was at least another hour's worth of work her for her he knew. The chairs must be put up, the floor swept and glasses washed. He could see the weariness that radiated from her body and understood her fatigue. The last few days had been hard ones, not just for them, but the entire town. He supposed that he could retire to his chamber at the top of the stairs and sink his aching body into the blissful down of his feather mattress, but he would gain an easy sleep, not while the small sounds of scraping chairs and clinking glasses filtered up through the floorboards from the room below. Mother was right, he thought dryly. He was becoming soft, lying about this fallow little backwater. Not just soft hearted, but soft-headed to boot. A year or even six months ago, he'd never have given more than a passing thought to the trials of domesticity. Still, he couldn't seem to stop the words as they rolled off his tongue.

"It's late," he observed, managing at least to keep his tone neutral and relatively uninterested. "do you require some assistance in closing up? --Another case or two of beer hauled down to the spring perhaps?"

She let her gaze follow his around the abandoned room and let her smile broaden. After a moment, she shook her head, slow and decisive.

"You know," she said slowly, picking up her glass of whiskey, "Someone asked me just the other day if I had never heard of mañana. He said things always look different then. I am thinking maybe I should try it."

Ezra looked at her for a moment as if he were not quite sure he had heard correctly. "A bold move," he murmured, picking up his own drink. "Are you certain you are up to the challenge?"

She cast one last look about the untidy barroom, then plucked the linen dishtowel from her shoulder and cast it down on to the table. "Si," she said decisively, "Mañana. It will keep until then."

Raising his glass, he tapped it against hers in a small salute.

"Mañana," he echoed. "I'll drink to that."


End file.
